Hamish's Moments
by chovypappy
Summary: Random moments between Sherlock, Irene, and Hamish. Some chapters might feature Hamish's infant, toddler, or childhood years in no particular order. ALL FLUFF!
1. I Don't Wanna Go To School!

**Beta-ed by:** **TheRimmerConnection**

_Ding!_

Sherlock Holmes looked up from his microscope and fetched his phone. He was currently looking at his son's skin cells, trying to determine whether he had developed a skin disease after accidentally splashing himself with the chemicals in the laboratory, much to Sherlock's horror. Irene had been breathing on his neck ever since then.

He read the text from Hamish. Irene had tried to reason with Sherlock about buying their five-year-old a Blackberry, stating that Hamish didn't need one and would most definitely not be allowed to take it to pre-school with him. So Sherlock had had no choice but to buy the boy an iPhone instead.

_Daddy I found a whip under your bed. Can I use it for my horsie? -HH_

"Bugger" Sherlock muttered as he immediately called Hamish's phone. Irene was going to get an ear-full for not remembering to hide it in their secret stash.

"Hello?" Hamish answered.

"Hamish, you put that back right now. And didn't I tell you to stop snooping around our room?"

"But Daaaaaddy!" The little boy whined.

"Hamish..." Sherlock warned.

"My horsie needs a whip so it can move faster, just like the horse racers do on the telly," he reasoned.

His father found his line of thinking cute and would have given a chuckle, but the fact that his son was holding the whip that he and Irene used in the bedroom was somewhat disturbing.

"Put Mummy on the phone, Hamish. I need to speak with her."

"Mummy's not here. Why do you have a whip, Daddy?"

Great. He had always known that his son might at some point find out about his parents' odd erotic tastes, but he had never expected it to be this soon.

"Mummy and I both use a variety of odd tools in our line of work. And what do you mean your mother's not there? Who's with you?"

"Can I borrow the eyeballs in the fridge?"

"No. Who's with you, Hamish?" Sherlock repeated.

"I'm all alone, Daddy. I'm taking good care of myself, like a big boy!" he announced proudly.

"What?!" Sherlock immediately collected his coat and hurried to get back home.

"Where's Mummy?" he asked, as he ran down the street.

"She left before you did. I was still 'sleep."

Bugger! He had completely forgotten.

"And aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"You forgotted to take me to school."

_Well I thought that your mother was with you_.

"I'll be there in five minutes. You should be ready to go by then. And it's _forgot_."

"I don't wanna go to school!" Hamish pouted "The other children are dull and the teachers get angry when I get clever. Mummy said they can't accept that I'm cleverer than them."

Sherlock smiled. For a five-year-old, Hamish already had a wide vocabulary and was already reading far more advanced books than children twice his age. His talent for deduction and his fondness for outwitting others had obviously been passed on to him by his parents.

"You need to go to school, Hamish. I'll just take you in late. I'm hanging up now. Remember, do not open the door for any stranger, okay?"

"I don't wanna!"

A full-blown tantrum was the last thing Sherlock needed now. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to hail a cab and soothe his son over the phone.

"Shh, Hamish," Sherlock cooed. He could hear his son sobbing at some distance from the phone, the call forgotten.

"I'm *hiccup* telling *hiccup* Uncle John!" He could hear his son wailing from a distance and assumed him to be in the living room, while the phone lay somewhere in the dining room.

He sighed, hung up, got into the cab, and made his way back home to Baker Street.

After Sherlock had married Irene, John had moved into Mary's while Irene had moved in with Sherlock. They had transformed John's old bedroom into a nursery a year later, when they found out about their newest addition to the family. Mrs. Hudson had knitted blue socks almost as soon as they found out that it was a boy. John was, of course, smitten with the little nipper, who possessed his mother's personality and his father's looks. Mycroft, although still not too willing to accept Irene Adler into the family, was wrapped around little Hamish's fingers. The child's every whim was met by everyone. Irene had even caught DI Lestrade giving Hamish piggy back rides inside the morgue when the latter was getting bored.

Sherlock was just about to relax when his phone rang, not two minutes later.

"Where are you?" He didn't need to look at the caller I.D. to know who was ringing.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" his wife's annoyed voice said. "I just got back from a case and I find my son crying his eyes out and holding our whip. Care to explain why he isn't at school and _why he is alone_?"

"Lestrade called you instead of me?"

"Answer my question first, dear." He decided not to trifle with her when she was using _that_ tone.

"I thought you were with him, so I took some skin samples from him and headed to the lab to check if he's got an infection"

"Mummy!" He heard Hamish cry out to his mother.

He sighed. Such a mummy's boy.

He leaned back against the head rest and closed his eyes. He hung up once he heard his wife tending to their son.

~o~

"Hamish, I'm home. I'm taking you to school!" Sherlock called from the bottom of the stairs.

He heard the pitter-patter of small footsteps and his son's voice saying, "You have to find me first, Daddy!"

He was sure Hamish was hiding inside the toy box filled with his decapitated action figures.

"Irene, reason with our son" Sherlock said as he climbed up the stairs.

"He's got that stubborn streak from me, I'm afraid," she said as she greeted him with a kiss.

"Hamish Holmes, I don't care how dull the students and teachers are. You are still going to go to school today," Sherlock called.

"Since you're already here..." Irene said as she adjusted his collar, her voice turned from sweet to threatening, "Why on earth was he alone when I got back?"

"It slipped my mind that you had an appointment, and I was getting worried that he might develop a rash after that...incident. But you didn't tell me you had an appointment with Lestrade, would _you _care to explain?"

"Hmmm," she said pulling him closer. "He said, and I quote, 'We need you here ASAP. We're already running out of time and _you_ can obviously do a faster job than your husband so we need your help'."

"He said that? Well let's see if I'll help him with the next case he can't crack." Sherlock suddenly remembered his son. "Hamish, get out of the toy box, get your phone from the dining table, and let's go."

"Lighten up and let him miss just one class. He's still in the first year, he won't get left behind. He's already smarter than the other kids in his class," Irene defended her son, "And remind me why we got him a phone again?"

"Because he's an intelligent young man, fully capable of handling a mobile."

"And why did you give him an iPhone? Children his age should not be given such expensive things."

"Because we can afford one. Can we please go to school now?"

"I'm telling Uncle John, Aunt Molly, _and_ Uncle Mycroft!" Hamish threatened.

"Blackmailing is in his blood," Irene commented with a smile.

"Your mother will confiscate your phone if you don't go to school!" Sherlock threatened in return.

Irene smacked his arm, "I didn't say that. Sherlock, he's still in the infants. While other kids are playing in the sandbox he's fiddling with his phone looking at pictures of microorganisms. He doesn't even have friends."

"He doesn't need other kids, Irene. It's much more beneficial for him to understand technology than to make friends with a bunch of boring five-year-olds. And he does have friends."

"Really?" Irene crossed her arms. "Who?"

"You, me, Mycroft, John, Mary, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. He has more friends than me."

"We're his parents, we don't count."

"Even if we don't count, he still has a variety of friends. My only friends are John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson and look how I turned out. He's going to be fine."

"His friends are all adults, his playgrounds are laboratories, crime scenes, and morgues. I just want him to experience being normal once in his life." She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"He _will_ make friends his age when you let us go to school," Sherlock reasoned.

Their son suddenly appeared out of nowhere, ran towards his mum and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Don't let Daddy take me to school, Mummy," he begged, looking up at her with those green orbs he had inherited from his father.

Sherlock had had enough: "I'm not taking you to school anymore. But your mother wants you to make friends, so we're going to the playground later. And no, you are not allowed to bring your phone with you."

"I can be friends with Uncle John's dog." The little boy proposed.

"You can be friends with the dog, but your mother won't stop pestering me until you're friends with a human being as well."

Irene picked Hamish up and wiped the chocolate stain off his lower lip. "Just do it for Mummy, sweetie."

"I don't wanna be friends with Anderson." The boy's lip trembled.

"Well Anderson's not human, so you don't have to worry about being friends with him," Sherlock said. "Now go and play with the fingers in the fridge."

The boy darted to the kitchen, happy with his victory.

Irene was about to follow her son when her husband pulled her back.

"Hold on Ms. Adler, I haven't asked you why you left our whip out in the open for Hamish to see."

"Well Mr. Holmes, I didn't plan on Hamish being left alone so he could find the whip and call you to ask if he could use it, which would result in you asking to know where I was and going home when you figured out that you had forgotten to take him to school. I also didn't plan on us having a debate about Hamish's unusual variety of friends when I got home, which would lead to you giving up trying to reason with me, taking him to the playground and letting him play with the other kids. Nope, didn't plan that at all." She winked at him and sauntered off to play with her son.

Sherlock smiled and gave a chuckle, "Irene Adler, you are quite a woman."


	2. Making Friends

**Beta-ed by:** **TheRimmerConnection**

Laughter and happiness were abundant when the Holmes family arrived at the playground. Children were sliding down the slides, playing on the monkey bars, and chasing each other. Sherlock eyed them all with disgust. He couldn't believe Irene had convinced him to let Hamish mingle with these petty children.

"Hamish, wake up sweetie," Irene crooned to the boy who was sleeping in his father's arms.

"Irene, let him sleep. He couldn't take his afternoon nap."

"Did you take away his phone?" she asked.

"Yes."

Hamish stirred awake and, realizing where he was, tightened his grip around his father's neck.

"I don't want to socialize with the other kids," he murmured into Sherlock's coat.

Sherlock sent Irene a pointed look.

_I told you so._

Irene glared at her husband.

Sherlock adjusted Hamish in his arms, and the little boy increased his grip.

Sherlock sighed. "Hamish, your mother wants you to stop being anti-social like me. Go and make friends. Mummy and I will just be around the corner watching you."

Hamish shook his head, "I've changed my mind. I want to be friends with Anderson instead."

"Not only do I hate you to be friends with Anderson, but you have to socialize with people of your own age as well," Sherlock replied.

"I don't like dull people."

"Look at that girl on the swing, Hamish," his mother pointed out, "She's all alone with no one to talk to."

Hamish turned his head to look at the girl.

"She's all alone because she's a bully," he replied and rested his head on his father's shoulder again.

"Oh?" Sherlock smiled, "Why'd you say that?"

"The other children are avoiding her and she's got too many chocolate bars in her pockets. Her mummy wouldn't have given that many to her, because she would get a tummy-ache. And she's glaring at the other children passing by."

"Come on, sweetie, just talk to some other kids for once. You might find someone you can get along with." Irene rubbed her son's back.

Sherlock, feeling sorry for his son for being forced to talk to these boring people, whispered, "Go on. Just get it over with." And set him down.

Hamish looked at his mother's encouraging smile once more and made his way to the sandbox which was occupied by a girl and a boy.

Irene smiled at her husband and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"Thank you," she said.

"Come on. Let's go and sit down." He led her to the bench farthest away from the children.

"Sherlock!" a very familiar voice called.

He turned around to see John Watson jogging his way towards them.

"Hello John," Sherlock greeted. "Where's Mary's niece?"

"What?" John asked.

"Well I assume that you and Mary have not suddenly produced grown children. And you two have just had another fight, judging by the state of your unshaven face, unwashed hair, and those dark bags under your eyes. I also assume that, as usual, the fight was your fault, and in order to make it up to her, you volunteered to pick up her niece from school, since you two were going to babysit for her this weekend. Mary's still not home from work, so in order to save both of you from boredom you brought her here to make friends and pass the time until she comes home. So where's her niece?"

"Playing in the jungle gym." John said, a little irked by Sherlock's deduction. Was he really that easy to read?

"Irene," John nodded towards her, "What are you two doing here? I thought Hamish hated these kinds of places."

"He does," Sherlock answered "But Irene wanted him to learn how to socialize."

"He's in the sandbox, chatting with the other kids." Irene said.

"Oh, well, I'll go and say hi." John waved a goodbye to the couple and sauntered towards Hamish.

~o~

"I swear, Superman came to my birthday party and wished me a happy birthday! I have a picture to prove it," Hamish's new "friend", Billy, boasted.

A couple more children made their way to the sandbox to check out the silent newcomer and listen to Billy's story.

"Well my Mummy and Daddy took me to see Spiderman last summer. He said that I was his favoritest fan in the whole world," another boy, Edwin, said.

"My Mummy and Daddy took me and my sister to Disneyworld to visit Cinderella and the other princesses last summer. Cinderella said I have pretty hair," Judy chimed in.

Hamish let the other children tell their stories. He knew that superheroes and Disney princesses weren't real, nor did they mean what they said to the children. He looked at his Batman watch and tried to convince himself to stay another five minutes before going back in search of his parents and telling them that he was already sleepy, which he was. Being friends with Uncle John's dog was much more satisfying than listening to these children, at least the dog didn't talk.

"Hey there, buddy,"

He turned his head and saw Uncle John kneeling down.

"Uncle John!" _Save me from these people. I take that back, they are NOT people...just like Anderson._

Hamish hugged him and told his "friends" that he had to go. The others barely noticed him leaving, too engrossed in their debate on who was cooler, Captain America or Ironman.

John carried Hamish away from the sandbox, much to the latter's relief, and they made their way to his parents.

"Did you make any new friends, Mish?"

Only Mum, Dad, and Uncle John were allowed to call him Mish. He'd have the others' guts if they ever even thought of calling him that.

"No."

"You should meet Aunt Mary's niece, Claudia, she's really pretty."

"You only think that because she's Aunt _Mary_'s niece. Of course she must look pretty to you, because if you called her ugly, Aunt Mary would make you sleep on the couch."

"Since when did you know about things like sleeping on the couch?" John smiled.

"Hmm, I want to be friends with your dog instead." Hamish rested his head on John's shoulder and let his eyes droop.

Sherlock was sitting on the bench trying to tune out the lady beside him talking about her son's _wonderful_ grades, and how athletic he was, and how he excelled in extracurricular activities. Irene rubbed Sherlock's arm reassuringly.

_This will definitely be the last time we come to the playground. Hamish can be friends with a caterpillar for all I care._

John suddenly arrived with a drowsy Hamish in his arms.

"I thought you were going to say 'Hi', not smuggle him away from his friends. Give him here." Sherlock took Hamish from John's arms.

"I was, but he just came over and held on to me and fell asleep."

"He wasn't even gone five minutes." Sherlock tried to sound annoyed but was secretly grateful.

"Oh, my little Billy and I went to a new park just last week and..." the lady didn't seem to realize that she wasn't even being listened to anymore.

"How were your new friends, honey?" Irene rubbed his back.

"Dull."

"_Did_ you make new friends?" Sherlock asked.

"Acquaintances."

"I guess that's better than having none at all." Irene smiled, "I'm so proud of you, Hamish."

Hamish opened one eye.

"Uncle John?"

"Yes, Hamish?"

"Does Claudia have long blonde hair and freckles on her nose?"

"Yes. How'd you know that?"

"She is pretty." He smiled, closing his eyes once more.

"I told you." John smiled back.

"Another boy thinks she's pretty, too."

"What? Who?"

"Billy."

John turned around and sure enough the young boy who had been with Hamish in the sandbox was now with Mary's niece, exchanging messy, childish kisses with her.

"Oh my goodness, I'd better get going." John left in a hurry.

The lady on the bench noticed John's hasty departure and her eyes followed his path. She noticed her boy kissing a girl, and would have continued boasting about him to the Holmeses for a few more minutes, but noticing John's stance and how he was charging at her son...

"Billy!" she screeched, "Say sorry to the nice man!"


	3. Uncle Mycroft Visits

**Beta-ed by:** **TheRimmerConnection**

"Mummy?" Hamish croaked.

"Right here, baby." Irene touched his forehead again. His temperature still hadn't gone down. "How do you feel?"

"Tired and achy."

"Does your head hurt?"

Hamish nodded.

"Daddy should be heading home from the pharmacy. Just go to sleep, sweetie."

"I'm cold."

"I'll get some more blankets for you. Just sleep for now, okay?"

Irene retreated from Hamish's room and was greeted by Mrs. Hudson.

"How is he?" she whispered.

"Tired and achy." Irene repeated her son's words.

"You think some warm milk and biscuits will do the trick?"

"I'm sure he'd like that," Irene said, touching her shoulder gratefully.

Irene took Hamish's favorite blue blanket from the cupboard and brought it back to him.

"Here you are, sweetie," she said, adding another layer of blanket to the heap covering him.

"Head hurts, Mummy."

"I know, but Daddy will be back any minute with some medicine."

"And some soup!" Sherlock's baritone voice called from the doorway.

"Did you buy some paracetamol?" Irene questioned.

"Yes dear, and some children's ibuprofen as well." Sherlock held up the bag for Irene to see. "Look Mish, chicken noodle soup. Your favourite."

"Head hurts."

"We have to get food into you first before we give you medicine."

Sherlock moved towards the bedside chair and opened the container.

"Open wide." Sherlock spoonfed his son while Irene sat at his bedside brushing the locks of hair away from Hamish's eyes.

"Warm milk and cookies for Hamish," Mrs. Hudson said, entering the room with a tray.

"I'm sick, Mrs. Hudson," Hamish announced and faked a cough for emphasis.

"I know dear, but your mum and dad are working hard to make sure you feel better." She set the tray on the table. "Sherlock, there's a thermometer here. Check his temperature in an hour."

"Okay."

"Isn't he supposed to rest?" A regal-looking man suddenly appeared in the doorway "He is ill."

Sherlock shut his eyes, "Oh for heaven's sake, Mycroft, what on earth are you doing here?"

"Just visiting my sick nephew." He laid his coat and a life-sized teddy bear on the nearest chair.

"I'm going to help Mrs. Hudson with dinner." Irene kissed Hamish's forehead and retreated from the room.

"Get that stuffed animal away. It has fur. It might accumulate dust and germs." Sherlock continued to feed Hamish. "He's already ill. There's no need to exacerbate it."

"It's hypoallergenic."

"Who told you he was sick, anyway?" Sherlock asked, still not looking at his brother.

"John."

Damn that man. He couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

"I wanna see the teddy, Daddy." Hamish eyed the stuffed bear with delight.

"You're not going anywhere near it while you're still sick. The germs might attach themselves to the fur and you might get sick all over again." Sherlock looked at Mycroft "Get that bear out of here."

"Have you taken your medicine yet, Hamish?" Mycroft asked, ignoring Sherlock.

He shook his head, "Daddy said I need to eat first, but my head is already hurting."

"Well, then your daddy should have let you eat a couple of spoonfuls then let you take your medicine." He looked pointedly at his brother "Honestly, Sherlock, the boy's head was aching and you still let him endure it."

"Stop trying to be a father, Mycroft. We both know that you're not good at it."

"I'm not being a father, I'm being an uncle. Being there for my nephew when his father is doing less than a marvelous job"

"I wanna play with the bear, Uncle Mycroft."

Mycroft was about to get the bear for his nephew when Sherlock cut in:

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mish. You're still sick and the germs might-"

"Oh hush, Sherlock, let the boy play with-"

"Oh none of that, you two," Mrs. Hudson scolded as she entered the room. "Go and fight outside if you want to, but not in front of Hamish. You'll traumatize the poor boy."

"I assure you, Mrs. Hudson, I'm certain Sherlock already has." Mycroft rolled his eyes at his younger brother, "Taking the boy with him to crime scenes and double murders. Such horrifying parenting skills."

"Please," Sherlock scoffed in return "You know as well as everyone else that he is no ordinary child, and therefore not a bit startled by it."

Mycroft couldn't argue with that.

"What are you doing here, Mrs. Hudson?" he sighed in defeat.

"Making both of you leave this room. Hamish needs his rest." Mrs. Hudson shooed both of them away and proceeded to feed Hamish.

"See what you've done?" Sherlock said to Mycroft.

Mycroft held his head high and walked out of the flat.

"Tell Hamish that I needed to go. I have some more business to attend to."

"If you think that I would be happy to tell my son that his uncle has better things to do than be with him while he's ill, then you must already be very delusional, Mycroft."

"I'll send him more gifts later," Mycroft said

There was a light knock on the door.

"Hello?" John Watson's head peeked around it.

"If you'll excuse me." Mycroft walked out of the room

His brother having departed, Sherlock faced the perpetrator of the dreadful crime of bringing Mycroft into the flat.

"You have got a lot of explaining to do, John."


	4. Dull

**Beta-ed by: TheRimmerConnection**

"Watcha got there, Mish?" Anderson watched Hamish fiddling with the toy microscope set Lestrade had given him. It was comical to watch his face turn to disgust upon realizing that the toy could not magnify cells.

Hamish scowled at him.

_Don't call me Mish._

"Microscope."

"It's a cool one, eh? We have a lot of those here in the lab. Ours is just an itty-bitty more high tech than yours. Here, let me show you how to use it."

"He already knows how to use one, Anderson." Sherlock cut in. "Probably better than you. He's already memorised the different stages of mitosis and meiosis, and can identify which cells are in which stage. How long did it take for_ you_ to learn the stages?"

"Oh please, Sherlock, at least my father didn't _force_ me to memorise the stages just so he can show me off" Anderson smirked at him

"And look how you turned out." Sherlock turned to look back at the sample in his petri dish. "Oh, and by the way, I don't force him to memorise anything. As you can see."

Anderson turned to see where Hamish had run off to, and sure enough, the boy was browsing Google, looking at the latest research on Down's syndrome.

Anderson observed how father and son looked so much alike. Sherlock and Hamish both had an almost thoughtful expression mixed with fierce concentration as they conducted their respective research.

"Dear?" A melodic voice called from outside.

Irene entered the room to find both father and son's eyes glued to their respective objects of interest.

"Anderson." She nodded at him "How are my two boys?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at Irene. Of course his wife would always find a way to irritate him.

"Sherlock is as annoying as ever, but Hamish is an absolute angel," Anderson replied.

_As if Irene would ever take the time to consider your comments on us._

Hamish looked at Anderson with the utmost annoyance: he knew his mum was only asking the question of this horrifyingly dull man to annoy his father, but the _nerve_ of Anderson, to think his opinion actually mattered.

Looking at his son, Sherlock smiled as he noticed Hamish's pure disgust for Anderson. Lestrade always swore that Sherlock passed on his dislike for Anderson to Hamish, but Sherlock knew exactly why...

~o~

"Dull. Duh-ull," Sherlock repeated to his seven-month-old boy.

"Dada and Mama are so commonly used these days, Hamish." Sherlock scrunched up his nose. "People might think you're ordinary like them. Now come on, say DUH-ull."

"Maaaaa..." The little boy, who was lying on his back, cooed.

"Dull. Like Anderson. Dull."

The baby laughed in delight, as if enjoying teasing his father.

"Ma!"

"Dull."

_Ding!_

Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket, sighing.

_There's been another one. Meet me at the morgue. -GL_

Honestly, they couldn't even solve a simple case. Sherlock had easily proved that Hamish was already smarter than three-quarters of Lestrade's team.

Sherlock texted Irene to let her know.

_Have fun -IA_

"We're going to the morgue, Hamish."

Hamish smiled at the word 'morgue', as if he had been looking forward to going there for a long time.

Sherlock picked him up and grabbed the nappy bag along the way. He hurried down the stairs and called out to Mrs. Hudson to let her know that he and Hamish were going out for a stroll.

"Make sure you take his hat, dear!" Mrs. Hudson called back.

Hamish squealed sensing his daddy's radiating excitement.

He hailed a cab and hurriedly got in.

"St. Bart's Hospital," he told the cabbie and held Hamish closer to his chest.

"Now, Hamish, when we get there you are going to meet a lot of stupid people. The stupidest of them all is probably Anderson, although I doubt if he's going to be there. Probably all locked up in Scotland Yard, drowning in paperwork. Your Uncle Greg must have already texted Mummy, so she should be there by now. You get to see how Mummy and Daddy work."

The little boy gave his father a two-toothed grin before they got off at St. Bart's. Hamish kept bouncing in Sherlock's arms as they entered the building and walked towards the morgue.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he saw Anderson and Donovan. What on earth were they doing here?

He walked up to Anderson and let Hamish face him.

"See that man, Hamish?" Sherlock pointed to Anderson. "He's the bloke I was talking about earlier. The stupid one."

"You do know that I can hear exactly what you're saying?" Anderson says, annoyed.

"You need to stay away from him. You might catch Anderson's highly contagious disease. Idiocy." He whispered the words to Hamish, but loudly enough for Anderson to hear.

Hamish whimpered as if understanding his father.

"Now hold on a minute—"

"Yes, it is very common in Lestrade's team, but Anderson is the most contagious of them all."

"Dear," Irene removed her surgical gloves as she greeted her husband with a kiss.

The Holmeses felt Anderson's gaze on them.

"Anything you'd like to add to my description of you, Anderson?" Sherlock asked, innocently.

"You were insulting me."

"I was _describing_ you."

He was about to retort back, but seeing Irene's intimidating gaze, he gulped and said nothing.

"Excuse me," he said and sauntered off to find someone with whom he could gossip about the Holmeses.

To say the team was shocked about Sherlock's surprise marriage was an understatement. They had a civil marriage at which John and Mary served as witnesses. Nobody knew about their plan, not even John and Mary themselves until Sherlock dragged them both to the court and told them they'd be serving as witnesses on the way. In fact no one knew that Irene and Sherlock were a couple in the first place. So after their quickie marriage, everybody thought that Irene was pregnant, but rejected that theory after a few months.

Nobody expected that Sherlock Holmes, with his odd outlook, had the capacity to procreate with such a beautiful woman. Well, nobody thought he could be sexually intimate with anyone, period. Everybody had assumed he was asexual.

"Freak," Donovan greeted, "Why did you bring your barely-a-year-old son to meet a corpse? I won't be surprised if he turns out to be exactly like you someday."

"Ah, Donovan, what was it like being hit by Anderson's now ex-wife?"

Hamish whimpered at the mention of Anderson's name.

"Give him here, dear." Irene passed Sherlock her surgical gloves in exchange for Hamish. "DI Lestrade was just looking for you."

Irene followed while Sherlock opened the door of the room in which the body was currently laid out, and saw Lestrade carefully examining it while he waited for him.

"Ah, Sherlock," he greeted, but stopped suddenly once he saw Hamish. "What the hell is your infant son doing here?"

Irene glared at him, "Language."

"This _is_ his parents' line of work. So it's far better start exposing him to cases like these whilst he's young."

"He's still a baby!" Lestrade sounded exasperated.

"Do you see any hint of disturbance etched on his face?" Sherlock argued, "Because I certainly don't"

Hamish was contentedly sucking on his thumb while resting his head on Irene's shoulder.

While the Holmeses talked to Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan were having a quick chat.

"The Freak brought his son to the morgue!"

"Wasn't surprised though. Actually, Hamish looks cute."

"Don't let him hear you say that. He thinks the word 'cute' is some sort of insult instead of an endearment." Donovan rolls her eyes.

"Let's just hope that Hamish takes after Irene's personality, rather than Sherlock's."

"I doubt that. Have you seen the way he looks at people? He has the same intimidating gaze as the Freak."

"I don't think I'll ever be at peace if I know that my future children are going to have to deal with another Sherlock."

"Well look on the bright side, at least you can give them tips on how to handle it."

~o~

"So you can ask his wife where the other bodies are." Sherlock concluded after a minute and a half of deduction.

"You will find her in the hidden basement. So don't give up if you think you haven't found her," Irene added while rocking Hamish.

"How do you know?" Lestrade questioned.

"People like her always hide when they feel they're about to be caught," She purred.

"And she's obviously stupid enough to hide after leaving obvious evidence," said Sherlock.

Lestrade stared at them, dumbfounded.

_They really do make a good team._

John entered the room a moment later.

"Did I miss anything?"

Hamish's eyes lit up upon seeing Uncle John and he squealed at him, arms and legs flailing.

John looked shocked at seeing Hamish.

"Sherlock..."

"Don't," he cut him off. "I've already dealt with everyone else."

John takes his godchild from Irene.

"Well, Hamish, this is a rather odd environment for you to be in."

"John, we'd like you to accompany us during the arrest, just in case anything happens," Lestrade said.

"Of course."

"Irene and I would like to go with the team during the arrest," Sherlock announced.

John looked at him, confused.

"Who are you leaving Hamish with then?" he asked.

"No one, he's coming with us."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"I will definitely not allow you to bring a child while we're taking the wife into custody." Lestrade scolded, "Sherlock, she could be armed."

Sherlock chuckled, "Please, she's not armed. Definitely not smart enough to conceal herself with a weapon."

"If you boys are done arguing, I suggest we go. She's about to board a plane to the US, and her plane leaves in an hour." Irene cut them all off.

"How do you know?" John asked.

Irene waves her Blackberry, "I have my ways."

Lestrade looked conflicted but eventually resigned himself to their superiority.

"Alright, but both of you need to stay in the car with Hamish."

Lestrade left to send for back-up.

"You're going to make your first arrest, Hamish. Isn't that exciting?" Irene cooed to her son, who was currently resting his head on John's chest.

He smiled his two-toothed smile at her, indicating that he was pleased.

Anderson then entered the room to talk to John, but before he could say anything Sherlock cut in.

"Close your mouth Anderson, your opinion doesn't matter."

Upon seeing Anderson, Hamish whimpered and reached out to his father.

Sherlock gladly took him and proceeded to torment Anderson.

"My son can sense stupidity from a distance. When you came in, he was ready to start crying."

"Would it kill you to stop with the insults for just a day?" Anderson asked, annoyed.

"Again, Anderson, these are not insults, but descriptions."

Hamish stopped whimpering and gave a big laugh, which made his parents smile at his delight.

Donovan came in to inform them that their car was ready. As they walked, Sherlock adjusted Hamish to face Anderson again.

"Now that, Hamish, is an example of a dull man."


End file.
